It started well. Dean and I were great. It seemed perfect to anyone on the outside. That’s why that fateful day when we broke up, although upset; I felt a sigh of relief drop down my forehead. It was a normal night, nothing special, nothing filmic. A normal night. I had gone back to his after school and we began hugging. He gently pressed his lips against mine and I pushed mine gently back at his.
He ran his hands through my hair and continued to kiss down my neck and shivers ran up my spine. His touch felt good, but not right. I knew something was wrong. We proceeded until eventually he slid inside me. My body welled up with pleasure and I felt… guilty. Guilty was not the way I should’ve felt and I should’ve known this, I figured being young I was still finding myself sexually. Maybe he was doing something wrong? Maybe I was? Maybe I just couldn’t orgasm? I’d be one of those girls that never felt pleasure until one day by surprise going down a rocky road in a car I’d explode. The issue with my logic was that I could orgasm. I had done. Even with Dean. I’d orgasmed times and times before, and this time was nothing different, but like all the times before it didn’t relieve all of my tension. It didn’t make my body twitch and squirm. It was average.
I knew Dean was good. His skills were perfect but there was something lacking. The whole relationship seemed to have a certain lack. There was a bed lacking a headboard, two feet lacking one sock, a pair of glasses on the side lacking a lens, a shelf lacking space from the shelf above, and there were two people in the relationship, one of which lacking fulfilment.
That’s why on that fateful day when his Mother walked in on our lacking sexual experience I jumped to my feet ashamed, guilt ridden and horribly naked. I stood trying to cover myself with a pillow lacking a working zip whilst waiting for a reaction by his gobsmacked Mother. The silence felt like an eternity but in reality was abruptly ended with a horrible shriek; ‘DEAN!’
Dean kept himself and his member hidden under the covers as if the horrid shriek from the woman who looked like she’d just seen her son making love to a cuddly toy sheep would shatter every ounce of his being if uncovered. After being told to get dressed immediately, we stumbled about trying to gather up our clothes that had been strewn across the floor in a moment of passion that lacked… well, passion. What followed can only be described as the most awkward conversation that could possibly be held between three people. We may as well have been two evolutionists convincing a creationist that the reason we fornicated was for leisure instead of reproduction these days.
After Dean’s mum left the room we looked at each other. His hazel eyes sparkling but not with the same twinkle they had done before. They sparkled with the fluid accumulating from his tear ducts. It was over and there was nothing either of us could do about it. I know it sounds odd that we ended our relationship because of such a now trivial matter, but being 15 and threatened that my parents would be told if we were to stay together and knowing that my parents would start WW3 with their family, meant that it would be easier to remain friends than to have nothing left remaining by fighting through.
I was sad to lose Dean. He was my first proper boyfriend. I lost my virginity to him. He was sweet and kind and did treat me with respect and not bad looking either. He had long brown, highlighted hair, a thin yet muscly build. A guitar player. The perfect rock guy, but he didn’t have a band, he preferred going solo and I was about to find this out more and more each day for months to come. After the break he distanced himself further and further from me and I still could not decide if this was or was not a good thing. A blessing in disguise maybe?
I realize that was brief, but this is not where my story lies.